(Verse 1)
The key turns. The tumblers groan. The front door swings inside.
The silence of the house rushes in to fill the space where I hide.
I lean against the wood, feel the cold seep through my coat.
Another day is done, just a lump stuck in my throat.
The motion-sensor light in the hall flicks on, stark and bright...
I wait in the shadow for it to give up the fight.
It clicks off.
Darkness is a blanket. Heavy. Worn.
(Verse 2)
My shoes feel like lead blocks as I move toward a chair.
The shape of the furniture, hanging in the air.
The day’s mask finally peels away, it leaves my skin feeling raw.
Just a collection of anxieties, and failures, and flaws.
The quiet in here has a weight you can feel, a pressure on the ears.
It’s the sound of all the things I’ve been avoiding for all these years.
The phone in my pocket stays silent. Stays heavy.
(Verse 3)
There’s a high-pitched hum behind my eyes, a constant, nagging static.
A tangled knot of deadlines and goodbyes and problems in the attic.
Every small decision feels like calculus and sand.
A simple question is a threat I don’t think I can withstand.
I think about the kitchen, the cold water from the tap.
But the distance is a mile, and my energy has snapped.
I just sit.
And listen to the hum.
(Verse 4)
I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the black TV screen.
A stranger’s silhouette, a ghost in this machine.
He looks tired. He looks hollowed out. He looks like he’s about to break.
For a second, I feel sorry for him, for his own sorry sake.
This whole life feels like a movie that I walked into too late.
Trying to understand the plot, and cursing at my fate.
Just running.
Always running in place.